Together

The "moving to the country to save the marriage" trope has become the modern equivalent of the 1980s "slasher at a summer camp." In our current era of burnout and city-dwelling anxiety, the idea of escaping to a fixer-upper in the middle of nowhere feels like a dream—until the isolation starts screaming back at you. Michael Shanks, a director who spent years honing his craft with hyper-inventive, VFX-heavy shorts on the internet, finally brings that restless energy to the big screen with Together. It’s a film that sits comfortably in that 2020s "elevated horror" pocket but isn’t afraid to get its hands—and its protagonists—absolutely filthy.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while nursing a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea and trying to ignore a persistent notification that my car insurance was due, and honestly, the domestic dread on screen was a welcome distraction. There is something deeply recognizable about the way Dave Franco and Alison Brie inhabit Tim and Millie. They don't just feel like a movie couple; they feel like a couple who has argued about the "right" way to load a dishwasher for a decade.

Love in the Time of Rot

The first act plays out like a tense indie drama. Tim and Millie are attempting a "soft reset" of their lives, trading city noise for rural silence. But Michael Shanks (who also wrote the screenplay) knows that silence is just a canvas for something worse. When the "unnatural force" mentioned in the synopsis finally makes its entrance, it doesn't arrive with a loud orchestral sting or a CGI jump scare. It’s more of a creeping, biological wrongness.

The horror here is deeply physical. We’ve seen a lot of body horror lately, but Together feels specific to the 2025 landscape—it’s about the fear of the person next to you changing into someone you don't recognize. As the "corruption" begins to take hold of their flesh, the film asks a pretty gnarly question: How much of your partner's literal rot are you willing to overlook for the sake of companionship? It’s a metaphor that hits hard in a post-pandemic world where we’ve all spent a little too much time trapped inside with our own thoughts and our partners' worst habits.

Practical Magic and Relationship Woes

For a mid-budget film ($17 million is practically "micro" by modern franchise standards), Together looks phenomenal. Shanks leverages his background in visual effects to blend practical makeup with digital touch-ups in a way that feels seamless. There’s a particular sequence involving a shared bath that is genuinely the most uncomfortable I've felt in a theater since the original Saw, and yet, it’s strangely romantic.

Alison Brie, who also produced the film, gives a performance that reminds me why she’s one of the most versatile actors of her generation. She manages to balance the frantic energy of a woman losing her mind with the weary exhaustion of a wife who just wants to finish her morning coffee. Dave Franco plays a great foil to her, leaning into a more internal, simmering panic. Their real-life chemistry is the engine here; without it, the movie would just be a series of gross-out gags. Instead, it feels like a genuine tragedy.

Then there’s Damon Herriman as Jamie. Look, if you need someone to show up and immediately make the audience feel like they need to check the locks on their doors, Herriman is the gold standard. He brings a weird, tactile energy to his scenes that elevates the mystery of the "force" beyond just a generic monster-in-the-woods scenario.

The Weird Mid-Budget Sweet Spot

Together is a prime example of the kind of cinema I hope we see more of in the back half of this decade. It’s not a legacy sequel, it’s not part of a "cinematic universe," and it’s not three hours long. It’s a punchy, 102-minute exploration of a high-concept idea that knows exactly when to quit. In a theatrical landscape dominated by $200 million behemoths that feel like they were edited by a committee, Together feels like it has a specific, albeit slightly deranged, human pulse.

The film did decent business at the box office—doubling its budget—which is a win for original horror. It’s the kind of "word of mouth" hit that flourishes on social media because of its "did you see that one scene?" factor. While it might not have the historical weight of a classic like The Fly, it captures the specific anxiety of now—the feeling that everything is a bit fragile, and that the people we love are the only thing keeping us from falling apart, even as they fall apart themselves.

If you're looking for a date night movie, Together is a bold choice—it’ll either lead to a great conversation or a very quiet car ride home. It’s a messy, gooey, and surprisingly heartfelt look at the "for better or worse" part of marriage vows. Michael Shanks has made a calling card film that proves you don't need a massive budget to create a lasting image, provided you're willing to get a little blood on the lens. Seek this one out before the internet spoils the final, haunting image of Tim and Millie’s "new" life.